The Girl Who Became a Beatle

by Greg Taylor

  So, when I got my coffee, I went over to Julian’s table—totally aware of all the stares and whispers of “That’s Regina Bloomsbury!” from people in line and at the tables—and sat down across from him. He didn’t see me coming. He had been totally zeroed in on a pad of paper. There were lines scrawled in it. Lyrics, from what I could tell.

  “Don’t worry,” I said when he looked up, surprised, from his pad. “I won’t bother you. There’s just … nowhere else to sit.”

  Julian studied me for a moment, then went back to his pad. OK, that was rude, but I let it pass. I sipped my coffee and watched Julian work. I had a hunch he was working on lyrics for the song I had heard him play in his room. I hummed the chorus. That got his attention.

  “You remembered,” he said, surprised.

  “It’s a catchy chorus, Julian. It’s a good song.” That broke the ice a bit. Julian looked genuinely pleased at my compliment. “Working on the lyrics?” Julian nodded. “I’d still like to help.”

  Julian’s better mood changed faster than a sneeze. “Why are you doing this, Regina?”

  “What?” I really didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “Don’t be coy, OK? You don’t need my song.”

  “It’s not about needing your song, Julian. It’s about wanting to work with you.”

  “I don’t get it. Why do you want to work with me again all of a sudden?”

  “I just thought…” I trailed off. My conversation with Julian was starting to bring me down.

  “Look, why don’t we just”—Julian searched for what we should just do—“be professionals this week. We’ll do what we have to do. Then you can go your way, and we’ll go ours.”

  “Oh, great! Why don’t you just kick me out the door!” I could feel my cheeks burn all of a sudden, like someone had put two little hot plates on them.

  “C’mon, Regina. Stop playing dumb, will you? That’s what this has been leading up to and you know it!” I just sat and glared at Julian. “Oh, that’s right. You have amnesia.”

  The way Julian said “amnesia,” it was as if he were making fun of me. Like he didn’t believe me. This was not the Julian I knew and loved. The Twin Oaks Julian. It was like his evil twin or something.

  “So, have fun with Hayley last night?” I couldn’t believe it when I said that. It was so juvenile. But it was the best I could do under the circumstances.

  “At least I didn’t forget about the video shoot. Bradley really has his hooks in you, doesn’t he?”

  That did it! That’s when I snapped.

  “No, Julian. Bradley doesn’t have his hooks in me. But I’ll tell you one thing. He’s the only one being nice to me lately!” I got up from the table, spilling some of my coffee in the process. “So you don’t have to worry about a thing. I won’t offer to help with your precious lyrics again.”

  I threw the rest of my coffee in the trash can on my way out of Starbucks. I didn’t need it anymore. My confrontation with Julian was like a triple shot of pure caffeine. As far as I was concerned, from that moment on, it was full-speed-ahead time! Time to live my wish come true to its fullest and not care what anyone thought about me. The first stop on my new-attitude tour of L.A.?

  The video shoot.

  11

  To be honest, the director of the video didn’t have a chance.

  Todd was young, twentysomething, and stood in the center of Soundstage 22 at Paramount Studios, explaining the concept of the video to me and the rest of the band. I stood to one side, apart from my bandmates, listening. No one had said a word in the limo on the way to Paramount, which was fine by me.

  “So you guys are gonna be playing onstage,” Todd said. “He will be in the crowd.” The “he” referred to the title character of “He Loves You,” my slightly revised version of “She Loves You,” one of the Beatles’ most effervescent hits and—as I had discovered on the Caverns Web site—the next single being released from Meet the Caverns! “As you’re singing, I’ll cut in scenes of you, Regina, and He. Flashbacks. How you two met. Your first kiss. Your first fight. We’ll film those scenes later.”

  The soundstage had been transformed into a high school auditorium. Basketball court. Bleacher seats. A stage for the band under one of the basketball nets. Background extras stood nearby, waiting for instruction.

  “What’s going on over there?” I asked, referring to a choreographer rehearsing dancers in a corner of the soundstage. Our recording of “He Loves You” played on an amplified iPod set up near the dancers.

  “They’ll be doing a dance routine as you sing. OK. Any questions?” I was working up to one. Actually, it was more of a statement than a question. “Great,” Todd said. “We’ll get going as soon as you’re through with hair and makeup.”

  “I’m not doing this,” I declared suddenly. Todd looked at me as though I were speaking in a foreign tongue. “It’s a lame concept. It’s juvenile.” There was a collective exhale from the band. Here we go again is what that sound clearly said.

  Trey, who was on the periphery of our little group, listening to this, stepped between me and Todd. I think he feared a fistfight might break out between us.

  “MTV wants to premiere ‘He Loves You’ this weekend, the day after the Grammys, Regina,” Trey explained calmly. “I don’t think we have time to change the concept.”

  “We barely have enough time as it is!” Todd jabbed, looking over Trey’s shoulder. “Considering we were supposed to film this last night!”

  “I would have felt the same way last night,” I countered. “I’m not doing the video this way. It’s not right for the song.”

  Todd glared at me, then transferred his gaze to Trey. “You’re the main man, Trey. Tell us what to do.”

  “I’ll tell you what to do,” I interrupted. “Everyone take a break while I write a new concept.” I spun around and headed for my dressing room, which was a trailer parked outside the soundstage.

  When I got there … panic! I grabbed a drink from the tiny refrigerator with a trembling hand and gulped it down as I paced back and forth in the small space. Like a ghost from my not-too-distant past, my Insecure Self paced right along next to my new Confident Self.

  I.S.: What were you thinking?

  C.S.: I couldn’t help it! It was a lame concept. It would have been like a Britney Spears video!

  I.S.: So you think you can come up with something better?

  C.S.: I have to. I mean, how hard can it be?

  I.S.: I don’t know, but you better get cracking. There’s only about a hundred people in there waiting for you!

  What were my two selves to do? Thankfully—but predictably, I suppose—the Fab Four came to our rescue. Specifically, a scene in A Hard Day’s Night came to our rescue. For those of you who have never seen the movie, a quick explanation:

  At the beginning of the movie, the Beatles travel from their hometown of Liverpool to London to make an appearance on a TV variety show. Feeling restless and cooped up in the TV studio as they wait to rehearse for that evening’s performance, they charge outside and go a bit crazy in a nearby field as “Can’t Buy Me Love” plays joyously on the sound track. (A scene that’s credited as one of the first-ever music videos!)

  Quick cuts.

  Handheld shots.

  Helicopter shots.

  Black-and-white footage.

  Perfect!

  Seeing as no one had ever seen A Hard Day’s Night before, this would be a new idea! Fueled by a fresh burst of adrenaline, I slapped a couple pieces of paper down on the little dressing room table and grabbed a pen.

  OK, how to begin? (thinking … thinking…) Got it! Before the song kicks in, the Caverns are being told what the video is going to be by a pompous young director.

  Good. Keep going.

  OK, OK … what next? How about, the band restlessly waits to film the video as dancers rehearse their unoriginal, seen-it-all-before routine in the background.

  Brilliant!

  Now what? That was
the easy part, thanks to AHDN. The Caverns can’t take the boredom anymore, so they (I, we) charge from the soundstage and proceed to run amok around Paramount Studios.

  I like it!

  As soon as I was done writing the script, including the dialogue, I delivered it to the two Ts. Trey and Todd. One of the Ts didn’t like it very much. Matter of fact, when Todd read what I wrote, he yelled, “I quit!” and stormed off the soundstage!

  Silence …

  This was my moment. I could feel it. Time for me to step up to the plate. I took a deep breath, shoved aside my Insecure Self, and offered to take over as director. I was clearly the gal for the job, I told Trey. I had the entire video in my head. Trey thought about that for a moment, then said, “Let’s do it!”

  It’s one thing to say you’re going to direct a music video. It’s an altogether different thing to actually do it. I froze after hearing Trey say, “Let’s do it!” A hundred pairs of eyes had instantly locked in on moi, all seemingly asking the same thing:

  Do what?

  Good question.

  Say something, Regina. Anything!

  “You!” I pointed to a background extra. He looked around to make sure I was talking to him. “Yeah, you. You’re going to play the part of the director.” The guy’s face lit up like one of the old-fashioned pinball machines they have at the Twin Oaks bowling alley. “Somebody get him a script,” I yelled, trying to imitate the serious guy on the set at the beach the night before.

  After that outburst, I slipped on my director’s hat with surprising ease. I couldn’t believe how well I handled things. When people asked me questions—and they did, constantly, whether it was the cameraman, the first AD, or the costumer—I answered them right away. I guess because I knew exactly what I wanted.

  It was exciting to be in the center of all of the swirling activity, let me tell you. The energy and vibes were … palpable, I believe is the word.

  At one point during the shoot, guess which seven words made their second appearance. You got it.

  A girl could get used to this!

  And why not? I felt totally in control when I was directing the video. A new feeling for me. One that I liked. It was nice to feel so confident for a change.

  So, after many handheld shots …

  A couple of helicopter shots (Can you believe it? I asked for a helicopter and got it!)…

  Much spontaneity and improvised goofiness from me (and halfhearted spontaneity and goofiness from my bandmates)…

  We had the video for “He Loves You” in the can.

  I found myself wondering after we had wrapped if I would still be in my wish world when “He Loves You” had its world premiere the day after the Grammys on MTV. It would be nice to see it. Especially the beginning of the video, when they show the name of the band, the song, and the director. Which would read:

  “Directed by Regina Bloomsbury.”

  12

  “I’m assuming you’ve made your decision?”

  Trey and I were in my trailer after the filming was completed. Lorna and Danny had taken off with two of the dancers. Julian had taken off with Hayley.

  Hayley. All I’ll say about her is … what a knockout. When I saw her, my first thought was, she’d make a perfect Barbie to my Bradley’s Ken. My second thought was, if Bradley and Hayley (see, even their names kind of fit together) were a couple, that would leave Julian and me … well, never mind. This is not the time to go there.

  “Decision?” I said. I felt hyper and excited and was still on the adrenaline high my director’s hat had given me.

  “Yeah. Decision,” Trey said, obviously annoyed with me. “As in, have you made the decision to move to L.A.?”

  Moving? To L.A.? “I’m … not sure.”

  “Regina, listen to me.” Trey waited until he had my full attention. “Please, do not get on that plane on Sunday. You hear me? If you go back to Twin Oaks, you’re just postponing the inevitable. This is the perfect time to make a clean break. I talked to your mom, and she’s ready to move up here as soon as you say L.A.”

  “She is?” I had filed Mom under Later. Hearing her name snapped me out of my jumpy, unfocused state.

  “I know this is difficult. I know feelings will get hurt. But it happens all the time. Beyoncé? Justin? They both started out with groups before going solo, right? And why did they go solo? Because they’re stars. So are you. Better to strike out on your own now. And I guarantee … after you do? You’ll feel better. Who needs all this crap with Lorna, for example? I don’t, that’s for sure.”

  Trey grabbed a chair and placed it next to me. He reminded me of an eagle zeroing in on its prey. “Besides all that, you can’t tell me you don’t feel restricted by your dad. I mean, he still has you living in that two-bedroom house in Twin Oaks! What’s that all about? You can have any place you want in L.A. You can have servants. Anything! Why would you want to go back to Twin Oaks? What does it have to offer you anymore?”

  Actually, good question. As I thought about that …

  “Your mom, on the other hand. What a hoot!”

  I frowned. Trey said that he had talked to Mom—I was assuming on the phone, seeing as she lived in San Diego—but how well did they actually know each other?

  “Your mom will definitely let you spread your wings and fly, girl.” It was a jolt, hearing Trey say that. ’Cause, as I mentioned, I did feel like my dad had been trying to keep my wings clipped. “You better believe she’ll let you be the sixteen-going-on-thirty-year-old woman you really are!” Trey leaned back in his chair with a smile. That turned out to be his punch line. Which was pretty lame, considering that I was hardly sixteen going on thirty. Sometimes I felt like I was sixteen going on ten.

  “You only have three days until your plane takes off, Regina.” The stark overhead light in the trailer caused Trey’s black eyebrows to cast strange-looking, birdlike shadows downward onto his temples. “Three days and counting.”

  * * *

  When I got back to the hotel, I took that hot tub soak I had put off the previous day. I needed to relax and think about things. The tub seemed as good a place as any to do just that.

  Three days and counting.

  Looking back on it, my tub soak was the tipping point in my L.A. journey. That’s when I cautiously turned the wheel from “I’m just out to have a good time in L.A.” and began steering toward “Wait a second here. I’ve been given a chance for a new life. A completely different kind of life. Why should I throw away such an incredible opportunity? What does my old Twin Oaks life have to offer me anymore?”

  Misery was all I could think of.

  Brinnnnng!

  I picked up the phone that hung between the tub and the toilet. It was Bradley. He’d been released early from filming and had the rest of the day free.

  “I want to take you somewhere,” he said.

  Glad to hear his voice, I asked, “And where would that somewhere be?”

  “It’s a surprise. Not the special one I promised. This is just a little surprise.”

  “I love surprises,” I said, thinking how good and comfortable it felt talking to this guy.

  “Good. Can you be ready in a few?”

  “I can,” I said.

  And I was.

  13

  “Look! There’s Fay Wray!”

  I dashed gleefully to the grave site and stood in front of it. Bradley’s surprise turned out to be a visit to the Hollywood Forever Cemetery. “You’ve never been? It’s a must,” he had told me after revealing our destination. We had walked around for about a half hour and visited the grave sites of Mel Blanc (the voice of Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck), Bugsy Siegel (a notorious real-life gangster who was played by Warren Beatty in a movie), Peter Lorre (one of the greatest of all Hollywood character actors), and now Fay Wray, King Kong’s one true love.

  The cemetery was very old-school. The reason I knew so many of the actors buried there was because my dad is a movie junkie and had brought me up on a steady diet of
some of the greatest Hollywood flicks ever made. As I looked down at Ms. Wray’s name on the simple marker set among the neatly trimmed grass, Bradley came up behind me and put his arms around my waist.

  I smiled and leaned my head back against Bradley’s shoulder. I was enjoying being with him. Something had begun to stir in me, that’s for sure. Something different and new … that tipping point I mentioned. It was like I had begun to break out of my Twin Oaks shell and was looking around at L.A.—this new world—less as a place to visit and more like … the future, maybe?

  Looking around the cemetery, I saw groups of people checking out their brochures to see where their favorite movie stars were buried. “Something tells me a cemetery isn’t exactly an appropriate place for public displays of affection, Bradley.”

  “You’re absolutely right.” Bradley immediately released me and moved away. When I turned and looked at him, he was smiling.

  “What’s with that smile, Mr. Sawyer?”

  “Oh, nothing.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  Something was suddenly bouncing back and forth between us, and it was pretty electric. Bradley fixed his gaze on me and I felt myself swooning. I really did. There was a reason Bradley had been referred to as the next Brad Pitt. He had that kind of raw star power, and he knew it. I felt a sudden urge to run and jump into his arms, but held back. Good thing, too, because just then Bradley gave me a nod, indicating that I should take a look behind me.

  When I did, I saw a family of four approaching us with shy and excited smiles. Actually, the dad didn’t look all that excited, but his wife and two kids—the kids looked to be in their early teens—certainly were.

  “Could we possibly get a picture of you two together?” the mother asked hopefully.

  “Of course,” Bradley said, instantly camera-ready. He put his arm around me and smiled his gorgeous smile. I managed what felt like an awkward sort of smile as the wife and her daughter took their pictures.